"F" is for "Flexibility"

An emotional couple of days, kicked off by the following e-mail from CCAI on October 27:

Dear April 2005 LID families,

CCAI would like to direct your attention to our website as we have updated the information this morning. Again, we have learned that the CCAA is only working on the remainder of the March LID families. As you may know, all of our CCAI families with a March LID were matched on October 4, 2005. At this time, we are unsure if any April LID families will be matched in this group. We know that everyone is eagerly awaiting news on their babies and we promise to keep you informed as we know more. We understand that this is a very difficult time and our hearts go out to our families as we wait together for news about your children! Please don’t hesitate to contact us anytime!

At first we didn't really know what to make of it. But with the resulting lamentation issuing from the "DTC" boards for April LIDs, more feedback was posted from CCAI (our agency in Denver.) Apparently CCAI is anticipating (they are "75 percent sure"--why must the stats that affect us be so high when they *don't* involve IVF success rates?) they will--FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER--not receive any referrals this month. That's right, all of April will be skipped, amidst vague rumors that CCAA (in Beijing) needs to finish with some March people (all of CCAI's March folks are already matched.) What this means, in all likelihood, is that we will not get any news about Jarrah until late November or even early December, and that we won't travel (gasp) until late January or even early February! Someone said, "it's as if you were pregnant with a due date in late October, and suddenly your OB announced, "Whoops, that was a miscalculation. We're pushing you back a month. Try to relax and enjoy this time." (!!!)

Of course, my sense of victimization is running rampant at the moment. I keep saying that this "unprecedented" development is the "rhino ass" of China adoption. (For those not initiated into the wonders of progesterone injections, "rhino ass" is a "rare" condition in which one's rump reacts to daily shots of progesterone in sesame oil by becoming mottled with raised, hard lumps--of course, not only did I have a massive case of rhino ass, I also had hives on top of that, and the whole mess took *six months* to go away.) Basically, I'm in a place where it seems that whatever could possibly go wrong on the path to starting a family will, even if it's "unprecedented."

And I shed some tears, too, that morning, after several hours of a numb, fragile, wide-eyed feeling that I couldn't quite interpret. After a few conversations with my stalwart pals, however, everything erupted to the surface: once again I was having "unexplained" infertility--"We're sorry. It looked so good, you were right on track, but something happened. We don't know what. You're welcome to try again."

It didn't help that that Thursday morning was ghastly in other ways. I arrived at Costco to purchase new tires before the doors opened, and was first in line. As the gal behind me was being quoted a 30 minute wait time, I was informed that my card had expired and I needed to visit guest services. Five minutes later, new card in hand (inexplicably sporting a photo in which I appear to have no teeth) I returned, and the wait was now 1 hour and 30 minutes. I walked over to IKEA and wanly purchased some colorful plastic baby bowls, cups and plates, with a tiny voice in my head repeating "What's the point? Where's the fire?" On my way out, I stopped at the restroom, and was attempting to pee when the door was flung open and the flinger screamed at the top of her lungs, like an opera singer seeing a mouse in her kitchen. "You almost gave me a heart attack!" she bellowed, as I desperately tried to finish without wetting myself. Umm, who walked in on WHOM here??? Smarting with the indignation of mortality, I returned to Costco, where I bought a gross of Kirkland baby wipes (again, "What's the point? What the hell am I going to do with these?") until it was time to go get my car. Five minutes later, I was cruising up a high-speed stretch of Friars Road when the steering wheel started jumping under my hands. The front driver's side of the car seemed to be rattling up and down. Then the mysterious clunking sounds started. I called David. "Pull over!" he commanded, but I turned around and made it back to the tire place without dying. And did I receive any conciliation for my pains? Any soothing apologies for my fright? Not in the slightest. I spent nearly an hour trying to convince three different men that my car was frightening me, while they all looked at me with expressions that read "Paranoid much?" Someone was finally persuaded to actually drive the car and then another session of wheedling led to re-balancing the tires. Finally a guy came through the door with my keys. "Here you go. By the way, the tires were totally wrong." "Wrong?" I chirped. "Yeah, I think they installed them with the wrong size cone. They were barely hanging on. Good thing you came back." HELLLO! And the car, in fact, was driving like a completely different car when I left, traumatized, starving, and shvitzing like crazy in my head-to-toe velour ensemble on a day that turned out to be like 80 degrees. David said, "Well, the day has to get better now, right?"